Love and other indoor sports
by quietcharm
Summary: Cedric Diggory is not the jealous type.


A/N: The song title is courtesy of the awesome T.

Love and Other Indoor Sports

Cedric doesn't get jealous. He doesn't believe in it, doesn't understand why girls frown when he smiles at other girls, or why his mates always laugh when they hear about the latest tear-stained confrontation he's had to go through.

The most recent one had been rather embarrassing – Emily Rose, a nice girl from the year above, had informed him rather wetly, that she was tired of his "obvious distraction" and if he couldn't "commit to a faithful and helpful relationship," that she, Emily Rose was going to do the "adult and right thing" and break it off. They had walked around the Black lake a grand total of two times, and Cedric vaguely recalled holding a door open for her and passing her a plate of chicken once, but he didn't remember the relationship part.

He realizes belatedly that kissing her a few times in the corner of the greenhouse might not have been the best idea. They hadn't even talked much – he had just commented on the dahlia she had been attempting to repot, and how pretty it was, and the next thing he knew, he was up against the wall with a trowel in one hand and a fistful of Emily Rose's robes in the other.

Cedric is not quite sure how things like this just happen to him.

His problem is that he likes people in general, girls more specifically – because they smelled nice almost all the time, had tidier notes for Charms, and because he was pretty sure what they were hiding underneath their robes was more interesting than what his was covering.

And he had been right, with the unexpected bonus of girls being as interested in what lay underneath _his_ robes as he was in theirs.

Not to be vain about it – he supposes he's good looking, but what bloke thinks about that on a daily basis? He's just happy he can still play Quidditch despite his growth spurt making him taller and bulkier than a traditional Seeker.

But the business with all the girls – that was just mad. A little more height and a hastily finger-combed head of hair on Monday morning, and suddenly it was as if girls were configuring themselves out of the stones to talk to him. At first he had been flattered, amused even, by all the attention.

"I wonder if this is what being Harry Potter is like," he says to his best mate. Jeremy, who had his growth spurt at thirteen and his first misguided moustache at fourteen, only smirks and says, "That's what I like about you, Ced. Humble and thick as porridge. Girls have always noticed you, you're just at an acceptable height now. Besides, Potter's still just a kid with a famous name."

"And I'm just Cedric Diggory, is that what you're saying?" Jeremy gives him a thumbs up and falsetto voices, "No, you're that dreamy Hufflepuff seeker with the beautiful blue-grey eyes. Ooh, do you think he'll notice me if I put a bit of sparkle on my tie?"

"Girls say that about me? Really?" Cedric ducks at the rolled up socks Jeremy pitches at his head. "No, you prat, they go on and on about much they admire you for your cunning wit. Now come to dinner, or should I tell the lads you've got to get your fan mail?"

"Shut up, I'm not Lockhart."

"God, I hope not –he was a complete wanker."

No, Cedric has no problems with meeting girls. It's just the keeping them part that mystifies him. There are so many good looking girls at Hogwarts, and he likes talking to them, seeing the blush color their cheeks and the way their hair flutters against their necks and how some girls knot their ties just a little looser so there's this inviting little gap between collar and skin. It never occurs to him that anyone would want to be possessive or that there are degrees to smiles or a ratio of hand to skin contact. That would be mad, Cedric thinks. A smile is a smile. If I say a girl's hair looks nice, it doesn't mean that the girl I'm with, or standing next to's hair is less nice looking. They're both pretty. It's a shared compliment.

Which is why jealousy is confusing, and love even more so. All Cedric wants (most of the time) is someone to have a nice chat with, maybe a bit of a snog, then it's off to the common room for Quidditch scores, or the latest Dr. Who comedy programme on Sean's hand-made wireless. Love seems to signify forever, or at least more than two weeks, which is the longest he's ever made it with one girl before she inevitably loses patience with him.

Aunt Berenice sorts him out when he comes home for the Easter hols. "The problem with you, Ced – no dear, don't eat that pudding, that's for your father – eat this one instead, yes, I put raisins in it like you asked – the problem is that you've inherited the fatal Diggory charm. It's true – your uncle Luke has it in spades, and while I can't personally say anything about Amos, I'm sure your mum has a word or two on that score."

After he stops choking on a sudden lump of raisins and suet, Cedric manages, "The fatal Diggory _what_?"

Aunt Berenice smiles and calmly repeats, "We were young too, Cedric. And you might not believe it, but your father and uncle were quite dashing in their day. Luke especially, with his curls and he had this jawline you could just –" she pauses at Cedric's nauseated look. "Well, the point is that they could walk into a room and leave it with a dozen new friends and admirers. It was in the way they talked to people, a glance or a tilt of the head that suggested that they were utterly entranced by everything you had to say, even if it was the most dreadful rubbish. You have it too, I can tell."

"But doesn't that mean they were just putting up a front and well…_lying_ to get people to like them?" Cedric's still trying to sort out the image of his father as a great Casanova, and affixing it to the tweedy, respectable Ministry face he knows.

"Oh Cedric, you don't understand – though, I suppose it'll make more sense when you're older. There was nothing malicious about it, they were kind people, and when you're an awkward spotty fifth year, kind boys are a commodity you learn to treasure. Besides, if it was all lies, I have to say I've never been so happy to have been lied to." She flashes her intricately engraved silver ring at him, and smiles. "At the end of the day, dear – it was the personal touch, the feeling that you were the most important person in the world to someone else. You have to be careful – it's so difficult being young and you have all these feelings --- you don't want to be known as a reckless heart breaker."

Well, when she put it like that – it was rather more appealing than being told to "Come off it, Ced – all the girls have been saying you're easier than a lecture of remedial Herbology."

An hour before going to bed, Cedric goes into the kitchen for a glass of water, but stops in his tracks when he sees his parents slowly and gracefully dancing with each other by the fireplace. "Alohamora my Heart" is humming on the wireless, and his mum's swaying to it as his dad twirls her around. Her eyes are shut, and Cedric's never seen her look so serene. They don't notice when he quietly backs out of the kitchen, water forgotten.

He doesn't know if he'll ever dance with a girl like that, but for a few brief moments, he thinks it might be worth all the nonsense and bother just _to try_.

Over the summer, he helps his mother with her garden and does a light bit of file keeping for his father at the Ministry. He falls in love, or thinks he does, with a striking chestnut haired mediwitch who visited the Ministry to update her license. Rhiannon is her name, and she has the most beautiful hands Cedric's ever seen. He considers suffering a minor run-in with his father's tempestuous rolltop desk (it eats pens and spits out ink smeared filing folders) just to see her hands bandage his, but reconsiders it when she flings herself into the waiting arms of a burly, heavily tattooed Wizard.

So maybe it isn't love.

At sixteen, a more thoughtful, quiet Cedric Diggory emerges. His only focus now is getting his name down as a potential candidate for Quidditch Captain next term. Jeremy is preoccupied with convincing Angelina Johnson to go out with him, but anyone with eyes can see she's holding out for one of the Weasleys. Cedric starts learning the names of the new Hufflepuffs, and offers to give them a guided tour and extra help with the Hufflepuff cellars, much to the delight of their prefects, Conor Bennet and Neil Streatfield. Conor has dreams of becoming Somebody at the Ministry one day and is lobbying for an apprenticeship, while Neil is studying for his O.W.L.s. Both of them stress this is only a temporary assignment, but that he's definitely in their good books "forever." Neil even mentions a possible future as a prefect.

Being Quidditch Captain, even in _consideration_, is just about enough for Cedric. He can't imagine having the added responsibility of a Prefect badge weighing him down too.

Besides, he'd never live it down with Jeremy and his other roommates.

With his attention diverted mostly to Quidditch and keeping the younger Hufflepuffs in line, Cedric's too busy to go out on dates or distracted walks around Hogsmeade. Girls don't stop talking to him, but now it's about homework or if the clause in the Hufflepuff code of conduct relating to their stuffed mascot is strictly enforced (it isn't). He even has little sisters in the form of Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones, who shyly informs him that even though Blaise Zabini is a "nasty Slytherin," he is very, very pretty. Hannah squeals at that, and Susan blushes a bright tomato red.

Apparently Cedric is no longer the flavor of the week, or month, or whatever it is that made girls swarm to him.

Jeremy confirms it when Cedric returns from Quidditch practice, slightly damp and pink from the hot showers. "It had to happen, sooner or later, Ced, my boy. You've become," Jeremy gasps, "a Nice Boy, and we all know what girls like."

"Ice cream and puppies, then?" Cedric's voice is muffled by the towel he's using to dry his hair. "Who wouldn't like that?"

"Oi, Diggory – you know what I mean. Zabini is just the lure of forbidden fruit! He's all Slytherin and ill-meaning, and there's some kind of phase girls go through. Even the sensible ones. _Especially_ the sensible ones."

"What, even the fair Angelina? I'd hardly call Fred Weasley – he's the one on the right, yes? Anyway, him – hardly dark and menacing there."

Jeremy says, "Only because you're not in love. Once you've been – mate, I guarantee you, it doesn't matter about common sense."

"Hmm. Guess I'm lucky then." Cedric drops the towel on his bed and passes the shared mirror, which whistles as he walks by.

Jeremy shakes his head and goes back to penning a love poem to Angelina. So far he's got, "Oh Fair Johnson, with your lampblack eyes…"

Cedric falls in love with Cho Chang the day she beats him in Quidditch. He's noticed her before, but only as another passing distraction in the hallways, lost among the other slim bodies and shining heads of hair.

Out on the pitch, there's no other word for it - Chang's _glorious_. Separate from all the other girls, she seems suddenly more _real_, with the sun shining behind her and her black hair blowing carelessly in her face.

She's just so…_pretty_, and petite and Cedric wants to wrap his arms around her and whisper things in her ear, but before he can do any of these things, he sees Roger Davies detaching himself from the other Quidditch players and stepping toward her and –

Cedric finally gets it.

He supposes at seventeen, it was about time.

Despite all of Jeremy's warnings to the contrary, Cedric finds being in love mostly pleasant. He can even handle the jealousy from time to time, well, no, if he was being honest, he can't. The day he saw Cho sleepily leaning against Roger's shoulder during study hall was the day he went through a stack of parchment, each one an aborted note to Cho. When he puts his beaters through their paces, he imagines the Quaffle as Davies' face.

Sometime he stands in front of the mirror and practices saying, "I love you." He never gets further than "I" though – the mirror usually interrupts with, "Now, you know you look like a right prat, don't you?"

"I know." He keeps on trying, nonetheless.

Cedric is in love with Cho for five weeks, three days and an hour, when he runs into Davies leaving the owlery.

The "Oops, sorry mate," is automatic, even though Cedric doesn't mean it. When Roger shoves him, he's too astonished to shove back. Roger doesn't look back, and walks away.

"What the hell was that all about?" Cedric shakes his head and goes inside the owlery.

The reason is sitting on the floor, huddled by the last and smallest owl hutch. When Cho looks up, her face blotchy and sticky with tears, Cedric doesn't hesitate, and crosses the floor over to her side.

She says, shakily, "Oh, it's you."

He sits as close as he dares, trying to find the scent of her hair above the pungent smell of owls and musty feathers.

"Yes, it's me." He doesn't know what else to say, but it doesn't matter, because Cho lays her head against his shoulder and just sighs, and it's like he's been flying for a long time and has just now come down to rest.


End file.
